Demise
by Gordoth
Summary: Thy Demise of the almighty Dragonborn. He is going to be taken eveything, then only Talos knows what is going to happen. As Ulfric is kidnapped and tortured to death, Faramir and Galmar are given proof that Gordoth had been the murderor. What will happen next?
1. Prologue

_In memory of my dear Friend, Alexander, for standing with me and allowing me to achieve so many things..._

ஜ۩۞۩ஜ

Ulfric opened his eyes. His hands were bound behind his back and his mouth was gagged. He hated that feeling, meaning that his captors knew his strengths and weaknesses. The high king was on his knees, while his pants were wet from the water which littered the floor. The cold surface was hard, recognizable as stone, which just added to his unconformability. He was probably thrown here, in a cell. But it could be a cave, because the ceiling was cracked and moonlight could enter the hall or room. Probably he was meant to be eaten by bears? Or sabrecats? But strangely, the stench which those animals emitted was not registered by his nose. He couldn't smell it, so it meant that either the cave was not populated or he was in a jail cell.

Ulfric turned his head, searching for a sharp object with which he could cut the ropes which died his hands, but sadly this was not going to happen. Whoever captured him knew what do do, because there were no rocks or stones with sharp edges which he could use in his advantage. His eyes narrowed at the thought of who could be his captor. The high king sighed and started to rub his hands in the cloth in attempts to weaken the ties, but soon understanded that this would only lead to wounded hands and exhaustion. He grunted in frustration and lowered his head.

Then he heard silent footsteps, or to be correct, muffled. Ulfirc arched his back, attempting to look as proud as he could in that position. He wanted his looks to be threatening, so he could scare those who entered the room. Well, Ulfric knew that in his current position, he wouldn't scare anybody, but at least a little bit of fear could grip their hearts, make them feel uncomfortable. Hell, if he could make them feel respect towards him, they might just get him out of those bindings.

The door creaked. Or, at least he thought it did, because the light level in the cavern didn't change. His eyes narrowed as he looked in the direction of the door, and found himself looking at a figure, not as tall as him, barely moving towards the wall. There, it's hands started doing something. It was really dark, and Ulfric could barely recognize the wooden stick, which became a torch as soon as the creature was done with it.

Now, the High King of Skyrim was able to recognize the species of the man who entered. Kajiit. So, that was why he couldn't hear the man's breathing. Of course, he knew that although the cats were able to stand in one place and look like statues, but the fact they were unable to walk or move without making a sound made Ulfric feel quite funny. But, as the figure moved closer, he was able to recognize priest's robes, hanging loosely over red cloth armor. It was not entirely the color of blood thought, because the black markings over it were quite... Recognizable. The Nord had to meet those people only once in his life, when he was looking for a solution to the way those Imperials made Skyrim cower before the Thalmor. Good thing he didn't have to act with their help, because the proud Dragonborn had come to his aid.

Then again, the people of Skyrim were proud and strong people, and thanks to Gordoth and Faramir made their vows in service of him. This was, probably, the happiest day of his life. After the day he vanquished Tulius, of course, but that was another story. This was, however, something the Dragonborn duo was not going to be here in order to fix. He had to act on his own, and that meant getting really clever for a moment. But... It was not going to work now, because he couldn't think, without his mouth being gagged.

The kajiit kneeled in front of the High King of Skyrim and smirked. He had two daggers strapped to his belt, he looked like an experienced assassin, but the robes were not giving Ulfric any thought for his... Origins. How could a priest be an assassin from the Dark Brotherhood? He didn't know, and didn't want to know. The kajiit's eyes were yellow, and, as ordinary, the slits which ran through them were black. The kajiit's ears twitched as Ulfric grunted, but the cat's face didn't make a sign it had registered the sound.

"This one knows... Yes, yes. This one knows a lot. Too much. They wouldn't be happy if there are more on your side who know how to shout... But the Thu'um has it's prize, doesn't it? You see, you, Stormcloak do not register the prize yet, but your friends, they do. Their bodies are attempting to evolve, to manipulate the use of their power before it is... Too late!" The kajiit cackled wildly, as it's eyes shone. Ulfric felt that this was a madman in front of him, but what could he do?

As the High king wondered what was he going to do, which was equal to doing nothing, the kajiit took one of his daggers out and started playing with it. Balancing the blade on his finger, the kajiit looked at Ulfric, studying the Nord.

"You know, the person who told this one's gotta kill you is... Going to be sad if this one does not succeed, but... We serve a greater purpose. So, you might live. Or, you might die. Oh, the Dragonborn will be... Shaken. Oh, how this one will enjoy looking at you scream while this one tortures you... But, this is not going to happen in the near... Future." Ulfric sighed inwardly, because he was having problems with understanding what the cat was saying.

"But... That future... Is now." Added the kajiit, and a smirk adorned his face. The dagger was instantly stabbed into Ulfric' left shoulder, sending waves of pain towards the High king's brain cells. The muffled screams which erupted from underneath the gag echoed through the hall, as the kajiit looked with a smile, plastered on his face. Ulfric forced himself to look at the wound, and was horrified to see, that the limb hung loosely from it's socket. Blood flew from the gaping hole on his arm.

"But... It has started! Ah... How good it is for me, looking at you, laughing while you scream. Ohh, how beautiful is this? This is beautiful. Even wonderful. Then again, this one will see you die. Or burn. Or drown. Everything will make me feel... Nice. Or good. You see, this one knows what you are. What your strengths are. What you are. What your weaknesses are. This is going to be... Easy." Commented the cat, shortly after finishing laughing. Ulfric roared underneath the gag, feeling his rage building up against his mind. The kajiit laughed.

What the cat did next shocked Ulfric so much that he High King was able to react fast enough. The kajiit grabbed the gat and removed it. The Nord was so shocked, that his captor had removed the only thing which stopped him from killing the assassin. Then, the Nord was about to burn the bastard alive, the cat smiled. Ulfric felt his cheek burn, as the kajiit slapped him hard, discarding his focus. His captor grabbed the High king's head and opened his mouth. Then, his fingers flashed into Ulfric's motuh and pulled his tongue out.

"Haha... You see, I like the fact that you are lost. See, I like it. Though I will like the fact if I can kill you now. But... Torturing you will be even greater. So, I will now cut your tongue, slowly, painfully. Listen you scream. That is great. This one loves it!" The cat was crazy. Ulfric understanded it. He was a crazed assassin, who could do anything. Anything that he wanted. Ulfric could only watch and prepare as his tongue was going to go.

The crazed kajiit's knife flew, cutting the muscle off. Ulfric screamed, as he was burned from inside. The pain he felt was inhuman, such agony he had never even dreamed off. As blood dripped from both his wounds, he looked at the cat. It was laughing. Cackling madly, the kajiit was looking at the High king of Skyrim with a mocking glare. It said it all. The assassin thought Ulfric was just an animal. A sheep, to be herded. A deer, to be slain for meat and leather. What a monstrous creature.

"You know, this one loves playing with you. This one is feeling godly for being allowed to toy with men's life. But, you see, even this one takes orders. And the one who orders this one is going to be angry if this one doesn't complete his task. So, Stormcloak. You see, the Dragonborn will me made criminals. Or at least one of them. This one will fulfill his task, and the one who orders will leave this one live... Ah, this one loves life. Really much." The cat was simply bragging. Ulfric smirked, at least this he was able to do. _They will find you. And they will kill you._ He felt happy of knowing this was going to happen to that bastard one day. Untill then, Galmar was going to hae to rule.

"You do not listen to this one, do you? Well, this one knows. Do not worry, you will not remember this one's words. So, this one fears not." The cat stabbed Ulfric's knee, looking at the Nord with simple interest, studying his actions. The High king of Skyrim roared, as dark clouds started converging on him. "Well, at least this one can tell you who this one is. You see, this one is simply a tool of the one who orders, but... This one is still someone. This one... Is..."

_"Majaak The Liar."_


	2. One

ஜ۩۞۩ஜ

As he looked at the dark gates, Gordoth thought of the ruins he was about to ge himself into. Dragur, falmer or dwemer machines were going to await him in there. He smiled, as he clearly remembered that day before an year, when the smith god, Zenithar had spoken to him. The reward which the divine had mentioned was going to be incredible, but Gordoth had heard the rumors. They said that The Halls Of The Aesr were full of ghostly guardians and challenges, meant for the greatest of Tamriel. Gordoth had not stopped smiling, because people thought he was one of the greatest of Tamriel.

He thought of Faramir, who was equal to him in that thing, greatness. The second Dragonborn had went somewhere else, as they had decided to split up near Dragon's Bridge. Gordoth had decided that this was the time he was going to prove to himself that he was good enough for the Aesr, and that if he failed, Faramir was always going to be there to remain vigilant to the cause, and protect Skyrim.

His attention returned to the old gates. Two braziers stood on the sides. There were shelves covered with broken urns and more, however the Dragonborn usually ignored those things. He had killed the wolves who lived here, but now simply stared. The door was somehow different from all those other doors he had crossed, yet it was the same. He couldn't tell, but as a smile adorned his lips once again, Gordoth slowly opened the gate.

As he entered, the cold and harsh enviroment of Skyrim seemed to followed, as the snow had covered a lot of the entrance's walking space. There was a third brazier, simply standing in front of the Dragonborn and the gate behind him. With a silent thump, the door closed. Instantly, the air stopped moving, and the area darkened. The atmosphere in here reminded Gordoth of... Sovengarde.

Unsheating his blade, he slowly proceeded in the dark corridor. He was met by a wall, which meant there was a turn here. Left, there was another brazier, but that one had two skeletons... Sleeping under it. One of them had about ten arrows in it's chest, while the other one's head was split in two by a battle axe. They were both looking forward, to another turn in the corridor. There stood another gate, but that one clearly had not been opened in a long, long time.

Slowly, as the Dragonborn walked to it, sword ready to cut through whoever dared challenge him. He was at about five feet from the gate when two, blue creatures walked through the closed door. Immediately recognizing them, Gordoth readied himself. The ghosts looked at him, with empty eyes, then made a step forward, smiling and unsheating their battle axes. The Dragonborn was not going to waste anytime, so swiftly casting a turn undead spell he prepared to backstab the terrified ghosts. But they just looked at him as the spell should have made them run in horror. One explanation. They were too powerful for the spell to take effect, so the Dragonborn made a few steps backwards and started channeling the 'Turn Greater Undead' spell, which was probably going to drain a lot from him, but he always had his sword to rely on.

When the spell wave made contact with the spirits, they started screaming pleas for mercy and turned to run. Crouching in the corner between the door and the wall, they covered their heads with hands and started shaking. Gordoth acted swiftly, stabbing the first and cutting the other one's head off.

Opening the door, the Dragonborn entered a hall. In the middle there was an altar, similar to what both he and Faramir were forced to bleed on in order to gain entry to Cloud Ruler temple. Behind the altar, on the wall, was situated a circular gate, which was tightly shut. With a sigh, Gordoth walked towards it, but was stopped from the sound of metal rubbing on stone. He had not noticed the thrones on the sides as from them roze warriors, similar to those he faced in the corridor. They wore ancient nordic armor, and used battle axes for weapons, he could see. Lifting his own sword, he charged towards the closest one and swiftly poked the weapon through his eye hole. The spirit 'died' and the Dragonborn turned towards the others. They were too many, but he was afraid to use the Thu'Um because he could cause the cieling to fall on top of him or alarm other ghostly guards of his presence here.

After a few moments of chopping, slashing and hacking, all the ghosts fell to the ground and dematerialized in puddles of ectoplasm. Gorsoth kneeled and rested for a while, because he always had to be at full strength in order to overcome the challenges which awaited him.

In front of the altar he noticed a pedestal, which had a note placed on it. The little piece of paper was relatively new, so someone should have been here. He took it in his hands a nd started reading:

_'A stranger comes_

_And stands without;_

_Lofty he is_

_To look upon,_

_And, prince, thyself_

_He fail would see._

_Of men thou shalt be_

_On earth the mightiest,_

_And higher famed_

_Than all the heroes;_

_Free of gold-giving,_

_Slow to flee,_

_Noble to see,_

_And sage in speech.'_

It was signed. 'Z'. The Dragonborn smiled at his discovery and placed the note in his pocket. I could always use it. Were his thoughts as he kneeled in the altar and cut his hand, allowing some blood to fall on the stony surface. Making a step backwards, he looked as the door slowly started to sink down, revealing a ghost. That one was wearing something much more... Different than the ancient nordic armor the other spirits wore. Ebony equipment shone, as much as it could shine from the body of a ghost. The spirit charged, catching the Dragonborn off guard as the axe flew through the air. Only quick thinking and reactions allowed him to get the chance do sidestep. Flames consumed the spirit and the ectoplasmic puddle formed under Gordoth's feet. Close one, he though as he walked into the next hall.

Surprisingly, it was a Hall Of Stories, which led to another pedestal and a door, similar to what the barrow had offered him. Cursing, Gordoth was about to go back and search for a claw, when the shape of the lock got his attention. There was nothing which had to be placed there. Probably now he just had to guess the combination. Walking to the pedestal, he recognized a note. It said:

'What grevious terror, what dread guard hath Windir set to wait, and barred his doors against all entering feet? Long ways you have come at last to meet the very hall that opes your quest! Yet hopes you never had. No turning back!

Three beasts speak, as in your track they halt and see with hungry eyes afar the horror inside of you lies. If reckless warrior of north dares to venture inside, not far he fares if guidance gains note of one of the three beasts of the gates.

The Canticle tree the first beast seeks, fur and wings carry it's body as knowledge it brings of yon Elder Scrolls,warding the eyes of unprepared youths.

Of brim stone the lungs, the second grim beast glides with scaled black wings, dark sharp spikes it's back grows, bane of all men, were all Kingdoms rose forth.

Night falls where the third beast hunts unbound from all rulers, on it's hunting grounds all hunters will fall.

Lay dow your path, wanderer strong, or face their wrath.'

It was was also signed by the same 'Z'. Gordoth smirked as it was all clear now.

Spinning the first ring so it showed a moth, the second so it showed a dragon, and the third so it showed a wolf, he looked at the lock with a puzzled expression. Placing his hand on it, he pushed, and felt the plate sinking. Now he made the same movement. Right, left, release. The rings spun when the correct combination was entered, and the door slowly started to descend.

Behind it was revealed a cavern, floor covered with dirt, water falling down from the ceiling. There was a circular stairway which led down, but the water had probably made it really unstable. Yet, this was probably the only way Gordoth could go down, and continue his trail. Descending down the stairs, it became darker, and upon reaching the bottom, which was like a little pool, Gordoth was already wet. There was a door, or at least a passage leading towards a river. He looked for a while and smiled, what could happen. There was also no other way to continue. As he walked in the tiny river, he avoided an alarming system placed there. Just like the Forsworn hideouts. After passing by it, he noticed a soul gem platform. Sheating his weapon, he charged towards the gem and grabbed it, destroying the spell which made it shoot lighting. He smiled at his success and continued forth.

At the end of the tunnel there was an iron door. In the river remains of unlucky travelers were split eveywhere, floating in the water.

The Dragonborn opened the door and looked at the stones of the wall. He noticed the water was deeper here, but was shocked when he realised there was no way forward. Cursing, he sat in the river and fell back, sinking into a tunnel. It hit him, making the Nord happy. As he swam back to the surface, he searched in his bag for a potion of waterbreathing. There was no potion. Cursing, he placed the bag back on and took a deep breath. Then, he dove in the water and swam. It was quite a long trip until reaching a small room, still full with water. Entering it swiftly, he saw a skeleton in the center pointing north. There was a closed gate there, and the Nord used the skeleton's coffin to launch himself towards the door. He succeeded in opening it and swam faster, as his breath was becoming heavy. Another door greeted him. The skeleton inside pointed east. Repeating the maneuver, he went forth. Another one. North. One more. West. West again. He was seeing black circles in front of himself. One more door. East. And he saw where the water was disappearing and air replaced it. He swam as fast as he could, and reached it. Hungrily breathing in and out, he started coughing as water left his body through the mouth. Waiting for a good while, the Dragonborn decided to look at the door in front of him.

Gordoth opened the door, and entered a mead hall. What shocked him, however, were the twenty or so spirits that were 'dining' on the tables. And, as he entered, the ghosts started shouting, and attacked... Each other. Gordoth simply watched as the spirits killed each other, while he stood at the door. Some of the wounded started passing by him, and he decided to speed up the process, executing the defeated. So, they all died, in ectoplasmic puddles, mixing with the water. There was a stairway, he noticed and climbed it. There, he saw two of the ghosts, looking at him. There was a circular stairway leading up, but it was blocked by spikes. They charged, and as he killed them, the fence which protected the stairway lifted and allowed him to go up. As he climbed, he thought that the reward was going to be worth the trouble he was going through.

Gordoth entered a hall, with three coffins. One east, one west, and one north. There were skeletons inside them, who looked at him. They were not going to revive themselves, Gordoth thought, because they were a part of the next riddle. He turned and saw a small altar. There was a note on the lowest pedestal, a handle on the higher, and a sword on the highest. Gordoth grabbed the note and inspected it. The infamous Z was there again, so he decided to read that one too. It said:

'At the end of my days, many a man my might hath known as I broke all their shields, and wards off swords.

Dead should I be, as fell corpse in the soil, yet alive here I stand, as old tree of white leaves.

Hear me now, Einherjar! No more winters I shall see, neither iron nor steel have broken this tree. For no warrior of honour may have lived this far, alright suggest now my death, Einherjar!

And the first Einheri said: Good is thy question and answered it is: Earth serve you as bed as you crawl in your grave, for soil welcomes roots of the trees that were brave.

And the second Einheri said: Good is thy question and answered it is: On the billows' road sail, may waters grant you plea, for heroes find peace from the dirge of the sea.

And the third Einheri said: Good is thy question and answered it is: On a pyramid of embers from a hundred birtch-trees, may fire bear your ashes for your release.'

Gordoth nodded to himself and looked at the skeletons. They were the Einherjar, he knew. Turning back to the pedestals, he took the sword and walked to the second skeleton. He looked at the weapon, then at the bony hand. Placing he sword in it, Gordoth walked to the pedestals again and pulled the handle. A mechanical crack echoed through the room and the Dragonborn tackled, avoiding the deadly spikes which almost stabbed him. The second Einheri was wrong. Taking the sword, Gordoth placed it in the third skeleton's palm. Pulling the handle, he smiled as a door was slowly revealed to his right. It opened and granted him passage. Walking towards the door, he foun himself on a tiny bridge. Looking down, he recognized the mead hall and smiled.

In front of him was situated a door, covered with thick webs. Casting the Flames spell, he discarded the web and walked in a hall. As he enterd, the door behind him closed with loud creaks. The hall was covered in webs, and on every corner was situated a statue. In front of those statues he could see pillars. Behind the pillars were the pedestals with the familiar notes. In front Gordoth stood a single note, saying:

'A sable tomb, gigantic, statue crowned stands gazing out across the Sea of Ghosts under the azure sky, in whose dark corridors imperaled as against a starry Skyrim night by candles flicker white, the Einherjar howl; And tawny shadows fingered long are made in fretted bars upon the stony walls by massy trees rock-rooted in the shade like stony chiselled pillars of the vault with shaft and capital of living rock. There slow forgotten days for ever reap the silent shadows counting out rich hours; And no voice stirs; And all the ancient Dragur grey, cold and soundless, ever stand and sleep.'

Girdoth didn't quite understand this, but then again, he had to listen to the notes. They were supposed to help him, weren't they? Just when he was about to go and see the note to his left, a giant spider came down from the ceiling. It brought it's young, noticed the Dragonborn. Unsheating his sword, Gordoth threw a fireball right at the mother and the explosion was able to kill the younglings, also hurting the parent. He charged and with a swift movement killed the spider. He disliked those things.

Taking the note, he noticed it was called 'The First riddle'. It said:

'O hearken now, animal Kings! What can this be now? Soft as down and hard as horn, and white as glistering snow?

"That is a skeleton!" Said the Snake.

"That is the glacier!" Said the Eagle.

"That is the Sea!" Said the whale.'

So that was a riddle? And the other three were surely going to be riddles too. Gordoth liked riddles, but that was quite hard. Deciding to think a bit more, he tried to associate it with the note that was in front of the door. Undead... Dragur... Skeletons? Walking to the pillar, he rotated it so it showed a snake.

The second riddle said:

' 'O hearken now, animal Kings! What is that hampers man's wit, by it becomes talkative, but other mens wits are mazed?

"That is ale!" Said the Snake.

"That is women!" Said the Eagle.

"That is pipe weed!" Said the Whale.'

That didn't make a lot of sence to the Dragonborn, but it was either ale, either women. He tried to coordinate with the note again, and was able to find a link between shadows and ale, because whenever he got drunk he saw everything double, as if their shadows walked right next to the person he was observing. So, he rotated that one to be the snake.

Going to the third riddle, it said:

' 'O hearken now, animal Kings! Where does that forest grow, it is cut on every day, and yet there is wood enow?

"That is Falkreath!" Said the Snake.

"That is a Nord's chin!" Said the Eagle.

"That is the battlefield!" Said the Whale.'

Gordoth was swift in rotating it so it showed the whale, and turned to the fourth and last riddle. It said:

' 'O hearken now, animal Kings! What are these, like sapling grow, root turned towards Kyne's realm, their hearts frozen as snow?

"Those are icicles!" Said the Snake.

"Those are men!" Said the Eagle.

"Those are mountains!" Said the Whale.'

The Dragonborn looked, scratched his beard and rotated the pillar so it showed the whale. Then, he turned and looked at the lever which stood, waiting to be pulled. He walked to it, and pulled. The sound of stone rubbing against stone echoed through the hall and he found himself looking at a whole in the ground. There was a circular stairway leading down, and that made Gordoth go down. On the bottom of the stairway there was a gate. Opening it,Gordoth entered an area full of roots and water running down the floor. He descended, following the river. At one point the path separated, and he went left, reminding himself he should come back and see what was on the other path. The water had went in the different direction and Gordoth was not going to have to worry about slipping. There were candles everywhere. Reaching a brazier, he was amazed to find that the tunnel splits in four. Like a cross. He went forward, and, in triggered a trap, making a few stones fall from the ceiling.

There it was, an iron door. He opened it and entered a stony stairway. Climbing up, he reached another door. Entering a hall with a handle in front of the door, he looked around himself. There were two closed coffins, and two barred doors. He pulled the handle, and the coffins opened, to reveal two skeletons. He noticed their hands were in position to hold axes. Deciding that he had to find a pair of battle axes, Gordoth turned and walked back to the brazier. This time, he took the road which led right. There he entered a room. In the center of that room kneeled a ghost, who looked like a prisoner. He wasn't hostile, because his hands weren't tied. Gordoth walked next to him, and was about to ask if he was ok, when the sound of tenths of legs running echoed. He turned and saw about thirty or more prisoners, just like the one he wanted to talk to. Lifting his hands, Gordoth shot a fire ball which exploded and killed almost all of the spirits. After finishing the rest, he realized that the room he entered was a prison, and a torture room. In front of him was situated another door which led forward. Entering it, he noticed that the gate through which he had entered closed. In front of the Dragonborn, a man wearing heavy armor and holding a battle axe was ordering a prisoner to kneel. They were going to behead the ghost, but Gordoth was interested in the axe. Was it going to fit into the hands of the skeletons? The head of the prisoner fell, and Gordoth charged towards the executioner. The ghost was beheaded and the Dragonborn grabbed the axe, but was shocked as it simply disengrated into ectoplasm. He stood like that, ectoplasm going down his hands as he looked at the floor. Then, his attention was captured by the metal bars in font of him. There. Here was the axe which would fit into their hands. He tried to reach it, but it was to far. He wouldn't risk with smelting the gate with fire because the axe was going to get damaged. He turned and walked forward. The pah to the left held the key, he knew it.

Entering the room, Gordoth immediately turned left and looked at the pressure pads. Smiling, he dashed as fast as he could through the corridor and jumped in the staircase which opened up for him to his right. The fire slowed down to a stop. He sighed and walked down. There, another pedestal. The note said:

'The wind of winter winds his horn; The misty veil is rent and torn. The wind dies; the ghastly choirs leap in the silent cave to fires, whose voice comes as bitter-cold breath through domes of frozen death.'

There was no sence in that. While pocketing the note, he was greeted by three coffins opening. There, in those coffins three Dragur looked at him. Unsheating their weapons, their started running towards him. A simple fireball spell destroyed them, because the flesh of he undead was easily burned. He walked to the right of the coffins and discovered a door. Entering the room after it, he heard the gate closing behind him. Two Dragur attacked the Dragonborn and he was able to block their attacks, then quickly beheaded the first. The second was able to land a hit on him, but the Nord killed it too. There was a pedestal here too. Gordoth looked at the note.

'There was Lothar, in days of old, where nords yet walked upon the mould, his power was reared in caverns' shade, his hans was over glen and glade. Of leaves his crown, his mantle green, his cerulean eyes sharp and keen. In after-days, when to the shore of Tamriel from ye old Atmore the Companions in might returned and banners flew and Elves burned. And there was Lothar, on frozen sand looking far to mist-clad land, when Whale, Snake and Hawk appeared to him. "Now hear us talk! You may cross the cold sea if you so desire, yet the favour of the tides you must acquire. Halls you shall build, order you'll bring, but first to us three a question you'll sing!". And thus Lothar sung, with mighty deep voice, each of the animals giving one choice. "What east is it which all brave men wear,and wards off blows, like immovable bear, goes against sppars, life-giving if born, against lords left and it lays it's form?"

And the Snake said: "That is the dagger, bringer of woes!"

And the Eagle said: "That is the sword, killer of foes!"

And the Whale said: "That is the shield, bulwark to wrath!"'

Gordoth smiled and turned, looking at the pillar situated there. Rotating it so the Whale was shown, he pulled the lever which was originally situated behind the note, now in his pocket. A door, appeared, leading to another lever. Gordoth pulled it and heard the sound of metal rubbing against stone. Swiftly, he ran back to the area where the dragur have first taken his fire. There was nothing, so he went on, back to the area with plates. Doig the same thing, he noticed a door was open. Behid that door rested the axe. He smiled and took it, then turned and when back to the crossing. He returned to the river, and followed it. There was nothing at the end. Just a big pond. Gordoth spat in it and went back to the prison.

There, he entered the room with the executor. Standing in front of the gate which held the axe behind itself, Gordoth used the spell Telekinesis. The axe slowly twitched, and started floating towards him. Smiling, he made the weapon to turn so it could pass through the bars, and then landed in his palm. He muttered a weak 'yes' and sat down, to rest.

The axes were a perfect fit. Gordoth was happy, as he pulled the handle and walked to the bars. They slowly sunk down, to the ground. He smiled and walked. It was a grand hall, with a platfrom. There, there was the last note. Gordoth climbed there and looked at the note. 'Read it with voice'. Said the title. So, he lifted his hands, and started reading.

_"From bellow the dragon_

_Dark comes forth,_

_Ahbromdiin flying_

_From Nithafjoll;_

_The bodies of men on_

_His wings he bears,_

_The serpent bright:_

_But now must I sink."_

And as he rode, there, on the platform in the center started appearing ghosts, that walked to their seats around the great area. They started repeating with him. And they summoned... A dragon. The ghosts disappeared, as Gordoth looked at the beast.

Leaping down from the platform, Gordith landed on a bridge. The bridge which would lead him to the dragon. He charged, taking his sword out and casting the ebonflesh. The Dragon shouted, fire flew from the mouth of the beast. Gordoth took the blow and swung his sword, poking out the eye of the beast. The dragon roared and took flight. The Dragonborn used the thu'um, Dragonrend and the beast was forced to land. There, Gordoth's blade dug deep into the monster's stomach. He dragon roared, and tried to bite the Dragonborn, but the Nord had moved away, and a fire ball dived into the creature's mouth. The explosion shattered the cave, and the beast disappeared, the puddle of ectoplasm.

The Dragonborn sighed and sheated his sword. The ghosts that have summoned the Dragon appeared, but remained seated. Gordoth looked at the gate, which was slowly opening. He had done it. The mythical light swirled around the platform which housed the door. He walked, slowly, towards the door. Behind he could see a gate, a grand gate. He looked at it, by it's sides stood the skeletons, holding the axes. He could have them now. But he did not want the weapons. Placing his hands on the wings of the door, he opened it and entered the last point of his journey for the reward. Walking down the stairs, he now looked at a grand hall. There, he could see many, many ghosts. Gordoth stopped himself in front of the door and prepared to drink a potion of magicka. He was going to obliterate those with his lightning storm. As he drank the liquid, he felt the power massing inside him. When the bottle was empty, he placed his hands one next to the other and started channeling. And, the lighting storm flew in the room. Everything died. Everything to the last bat or rat.

Gordoth fell to his knees and started breathing heavily. Standing up, he started walking towards the door behind the throne.

"You put up quite a show there." Someone said. Gordoth turned, and looked around. No one.

"Who are you?" Asked the Nord, while looking forward.

"Hah, if it wasn't for me you would never find this place. It is me, Zenithar. And you reward is right there! But I just have to make it, so I will use your body for that. Do not worry, you will remember what happened. Plus, your reward will be far greater than any pesky sword or mallet. Your reward will be..." The god went silent. Gordoth patiently waited for him to announce, but was taken off guard when his feet walked towards a shrine in the center of the room. His hands shot forward and opened a small strong box hidden under the idol. It contained a small model of an armor.

"What exactly is the point of that model?" Asked the Dragonborn. He waited patiently as the divine controled his hands to create a great thing, which was probably going to be his reward.

"What exactly is it? Probably a preview of your price! Hah, I bet you will be so happy when I grant you your reward." Znithar replied after a while, because he was probably into the process of the armor's creation. It started with a simple iron armor, but he was swift in smelting most of the inner side and refilling it with a material Gordoth was not aware of. Then, the strange metal was hidden by a nice collection of furs. Then, after that process was done, the god took a big bowl of smelted ebon, and slowly started pouring it over the outer side of the armor. Gordoth was amazed because the divine was able to cover the whole outer side with one bowl. Then, after he was finished with working on the metal, he took out a few different pairs of fur, and started placing them on the armor. Gordoth looked with interest as the lower layer of the furs stopped in place as the divine wanted. His hands were swift as the upper layer was adjusted so it was something like a cloak, but shorter. Zenithar took a pair of shoulder guards and strapped them on their places. A dragon skull was attracted to the right pad, making it look really scary. Then, the divine took a belt and started strapping different and useful items to it. In the end, he placed it on the armor and looked around. Grabbing a second dragon skull, he attached it to the skirt like leathers which hung from the belt. The armor, without all the add ons would look like a simple iron armor. A pair of gloves was being prepared now, dragon claws getting strapped to the gauntlets. A satchel was strapped to the back of the armor, it had a torch, two healing potions, a lighter and some wheat. A shield, big one, was already attached to the back. It had the bear of the Stormcloaks. And, at last,boots with daggers strapped to them were prepared.

"Done!" Announced Zenithar and Gordoth felt his body again. The god had allowed him to control himself. "Made from iron, with Dragonbones on the inside and ebony on the outside. Enchanted with various effects. Probably the best armor ever made. Probably because I might have forgotten an achievement of mine, creating an armor better than this but I doubt. So, this is your reward. Didn't make a helmet because I know you wear that mask. As a matter of fact, why not wear it now? Oh, never mind, that is your reward, best armor ever. Fare well!" Finished Zenithar and... Well, probably left. Gordoth sighed and looked around. The only problem was that Zenithar didn't show him the exit.


End file.
